All content copyright 2012 Ted Szabo
This is part 2 (chapters one and two) of a longer work, "Brick House." While this part does not have erotic content, many of the others do. It is included for the convenience of readers interested in the larger story.
Chapter 1
During my senior year in college I lived in an on-campus apartment with three other guys. It was an old concrete block building, rendered only marginally less ugly by the presence of a red brick facade. There were no discrete bedrooms, just one fairly large living area with a kitchen in the back. The accommodations were a bit rougher than those available in some of the newer dorms but, unlike most of the students who lived in the large residence halls, we at least we had our own bathroom. The four of us had been roommates for the last couple years, and got along pretty well.
As anyone who has lived starving-student style in a cramped common area knows, working out ways to keep off each other's nerves can be challenging. By and large, though, we had worked out understandings that covered pretty much every aspect of our shared space, and it's fair to say we were mostly happy most of the time. Some of those understandings addressed the issue of female visitors.
Figuring out what to do about roommates when things get hot and heavy with a guest can be tricky for a lot of college students, and a lot of time and energy gets spent trying to work out times for rendezvous when one's roommates are scheduled to be elsewhere. Sex with overnight company can result in one's co-habitants getting embarrassed, annoyed, or outright PO'd. The guys and I adopted a philosophy that avoided most of these difficulties, and for us it worked well.
Essentially, our guiding principle was "Expect no privacy." We had decided that trying to work out ways for each of us to have private time with our dates or significant others was just too big a pain in the ass, and we resolved to simply forget about privacy for the remaining duration of post-secondary experience. This meant that if one of us brought someone back to the apartment there would be absolutely no expectation that the other guys would leave, or that the one with company would ever ask the others to leave. We wouldn't try to do things like hastily cover up after a shower or avert our eyes from someone else's disrobed date to keep them from feeling uncomfortable. In other words, we would treat sex like a routine part of one another's lives that didn't require inconveniencing the other people who lived in the apartment.
It may seem like such an attitude would have resulted in us all ending up hopelessly celibate, but this was hardly the case. Obviously, even in the relatively uninhibited world of college, some women were inevitably going to balk at this sort of arrangement, but once we found ones that were OK with it (who were a lot more numerous than you might think) the lack of restrictions meant that we got to have sex pretty damn often.
A few weeks into the school year I started seeing Kate, a leggy brunette beauty who was dual-majoring in poly sci and lit. We'd had sex a couple times over at her place and it had been great. She was athletic and affectionate and liked trying out a lot of different positions. At the point in time at which this story begins Kate and I hadn't yet become exclusive, but it seemed likely we were headed that way. As she and I spent increasing amounts of time together the issue of whether or not, and how, I would approach explaining the shared understanding at my apartment began to loom. Either I would have to continue to steer her away from my residence or find the way to broach the subject, facing the possibility that she might be not be receptive to such an environment or, for that matter, a romantic companion that would harbor a preference for such an living arrangement.
I liked Kate a great deal, and the decision was not to be an easy one. In addition to her stunning looks, Kate had a wonderful, easy wit and actually appeared to enjoy my oddball sense of humor. At times there was an effortless grace about Kate that imbued her every word and movement with a sort of feral appeal, and I found myself draw to her in a visceral manner I had never before experienced.
Most of happened to me that year—much of what I did—the decisions I made, some of them resoundingly awful, revolved around Kate, who became a potent, blindingly intense presence in my life. This is, more than anything else, is the story of Kate.
*
Chapter 2
Fallen leaves of umber and ochre and gold crackled under our feet as Kate and I jogged along the northern end of the campus golf course. It was a warm autumn day—too warm, perhaps, to be considered ideal running weather, but we were enjoying our exertions nonetheless. Stands of maple and oak lined the path, and there was just enough of a breeze to tease some of the remaining leaves from the branches overhead, a few of them fluttering down around us in the dusky air.
The area was a favorite of ours. The campus proper had no green spaces large enough to make distance running enjoyable, but the area around the golf course was open and rimmed with stands of old growth greenery riddled with enough paths and trails to allow for a good half mile to be traversed free of vehicular traffic and the accompanying noise and exhaust. The golfing areas themselves were only lightly used, and Kate I often cut out across the fragrant, neatly trimmed grass, a practice that was strictly prohibited but commonplace nonetheless. "Golfers Only! All others stay off the grass. This means you!" read a number of aluminum signs posted at intervals around the edge of the course.
After a putting in a couple miles Kate and I slowed to a walk, wandering out onto the open green. There were no golfers in sight, just a handful of students out enjoying the day. A group of co-eds a couple dozen feet away were engaged in a spirited game of hacky-sack.
We came to stop, and Kate's hand found my mine. She was, I thought, breathing a tad harder than our moderate exertions demanded, her face flushed and the pupils of her large, brown emerald-flecked eyes slighted dilated. I gathered Kate to me and she slid into the arc of my arms, her form dovetailing mine with a perfection that made me feel as though her body had somehow been scaled and shaped to intersect with my own in the most pleasurable possible way. Our lips met, hers full and soft, mine—well, typical dude lips, I suppose—and Kate wrapped her arms around my neck.
After spending the next few minutes in an at least slightly restrained embrace our kissing waxed in intensity, mouths opening and tongues meeting. In retrospect, I suppose that bystanders probably found the sounds Kate and I were making at that point to be sloppy—perhaps even gross, but at the time this was a perspective that wouldn't have occurred to me. Even if it had, I don't suppose I would have cared.
